


Madrugada

by inkedvigilante



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Battlefield, Blood and Injury, F/M, Includes original poetry and illustration, Origin Story, Original Character(s), War, Young Bog as a prince
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkedvigilante/pseuds/inkedvigilante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"History has a way of repeating itself, my friend.<br/>A young goblin prince lived till the end,<br/>In a world that's strange and magical,<br/>Changes faerie and goblin royal.<br/>But a long time ago,<br/>'Twas not really so so.<br/>There was a war instead,<br/>A checkmate you'll dread!<br/>Sadly, no love was present at all!"</p><p>What happened before the Bog King's reign and the bloom of primroses, was a time of blood and war. No love existed among the fairest and the beasts. There was only a cold stone Border between them, dividing their worlds apart in a turmoil of politics and sunset flames.<br/>An ambitious Lady Knight ruled the fair folk's Kingdom beside a credulous king, and with the power, she fought to tear down the Border to assimilate goblin and fae for the better. She wanted fear to be eradicated from the hearts of her daughters, and a merge with marsh and meadow by force was her dark solution. However, her blade clashed against two particular goblin royals of the Forest, a young Bog Prince, and a Mire King...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dearest

_"Who's this?" She fingered the ebony frame of a painted image. The woman in the art was a beautiful dark skinned faerie with bright blue eyes under brown heavy curls that glinted grey streaks of age. She had a gentle round face with a calming smile, and Marianne could genuinely like her if she had ever met her in person._

_"My grandmother," the goblin royal responded, his voice lowered. Hands laced behind him, he looked away from the portrait and stepped through the hall of framed faces, taking time to admire the new architecture and salvaged material._

_Marianne regarded Bog for a moment. A silver glow rimmed his features, lining his silhouette against the carnelian wall._

_She had helped rebuild a new castle for the Dark Forest royal, and with it, they had uncovered lost treasures from the ruins. Portraits of his goblin ancestry and pieces of his old throne, exhibited along a new columned corridor, paneled in winding wood from floor to ceiling, and adorned in slithering colours of cerulean and gold. His new castle was better than the first, touched by a sprinkle of faerie decor._

_Of all the portraits, they'd dug out his grandmother's and a couple of his great grandfathers, the kings of his past. His father's portrait along with a few more of his grandfathers and great grandfathers were either unsalvageable or lost. He had almost forgotten he even kept little remembrances, ever since he fell in love before Marianne, he had never looked back in his princely days until now._

_Marianne thought it was a faerie thing, to keep momentous of sorts and hang them up in glorious golden columned hallways. She had never expected the king of the marsh kind to even own any, but she did have a feeling he was different._

_"Your grandmother was a faerie," she murmured, suddenly brought back to an old legend. "That explains why you have...paintings."_

_Bog harrumphed. "Yeh well..."_

_"She can't have been Griselda's mom," Marianne mused._

_"Wah? No, she's..."_

_"Paintings are a faerie royal kind of thing. The royal painter must have been a fae and that can only mean your father must've hired - " she stopped herself._

_Bog's wings twitched. He didn't turn to face her._

_"Oh, um..." Marianne frowned. "Never mind. I didn't mean to bring up anything - "_

_Bog let out a chuckle. All of a sudden, he was looking at her curiously from the archway at the end of the hall. His smile glimmered, lit softly from a glow on the other side._

_"It's alright, Marianne," he said. His shoulders fell as a flood of memories burdened him. "I think it's about time I tell you something about my father. Have you heard the stories about the Border and the... primroses?"_

_The faerie walked up to him, light touching her toes and reaching her face. "Well, I can tell you what I've been told," she shrugged, "And I don't know, if you'd like to...?"_

_"Share?" Bog blinked at her. Marianne wondered if he was trying to hide a gloom in those blue eyes of his._

_"Yeah, only if you're okay with it," she said thoughtfully, and he nodded._

_She knew there was something dark behind the story he was about to tell of the king of the mire, and he knew she was about to speak the same truth about a bloody warrior queen._

(  **[x](http://saviourless.tumblr.com/post/125895106220/strange-magic-week-day-3-wild-things-perhaps-i)**  )  

 

"Remind me again, why I cannot take your place?" he whined. "It is much too dangerous!"

"It is _my_ army," she hummed, placing her crown on a red blossom, cushioned in front of the vanity's mirror.

Her reflection illuminated a faerie queen, face softly lined with wisdom over the brow and along the cheeks, her icy gaze as sharp as a blade slung over her shoulder. She stretched her wings, easing the red, black and white. The gold and blood plating on her dark purple robe, clinked from the shake.

"My knights. My responsibility." _Unlike the pansies you chose to lead_ , she was about to add. The king was being difficult as usual.

"There will be larger goblins!" King Dagda protested, wiping a heavy hand across his face in dismay. "From what we've heard from the Bard, our men will be outnumbered."

"You doubt my league of soldiers?" The queen scoffed at him. "I have an elite force, Dagda. The best handful of knights there is in this kingdom."

In addition to her elites were King Dagda's troop, trained under his command with lesser experience but more in number - the queen saw them as freshmeat in shiny green armour. They weren't the strongest force, compared to the few skillful knights she'd chosen. She saw it an insult for her force to fight side by side with Dagda's amateurs. Then again, no matter the army, a greater number was an advantage. 

"But - "

"I _believe_ my strategy will work," she said indignantly, "I trust my elites - and yours." The last part was a mumble. "Once I triumph over our enemy's champion, everything should fall into place."

"Did you speak to the goblin king about - "

"I've already mentioned it in last week's court. He had his young charge then to pass down the message. Besides, I am capable of handling the Mire King. And if he refused my request of a three stage, we will still have a war."

Waving away the little pixie maidens, she tightened her steely armbands and plated shoulders. She was from no royal blood like her husband, and was only chosen to be married into royalty after being anointed a noble Valkyrie. She was one of the few highly recognized female fae warriors, and the first to be crowned queen.

A Lady Knight.

The first ever iron queen of the fae.

And no man, nor king, could take her away from the fight of the century. She was finally going head-to-head with the goblins' champion - whoever that was, she didn't know yet.

War speech, then play with the champions, and then attack the army. That was the three stage agreement. It was all going to be a game of chess with the king of the mire.

_Oh, the Mire King..._

She had met the marsh kind's royal one time in a summit meeting, when fae and goblin tabled peacefully at the Border for annual discussions. Since she came into power, she had been to four of those. Dagda had told her summit meetings with the Mire King were usually quaint, but when she had set eyes on the goblin royal, conversation wasn't 'quaint'. There was an air about him she didn't like.

She wasn't intimidated, she'd only felt challenged. He was rather argumentative with her in their only meeting, and she never saw him again until her last summit when he had sent a young charge in place of his absence. It was a bold move - sending his young prince alone to a meeting of the fair folk was either daring or idiotic.

At least Prince Bog was...professional enough for his age. Scary little rascal. She remembered his childish scowls and glares on top of the impulsive accusations. Nonetheless, he made quite an impression in the court. 

"Are you sure about this?" The king showed genuine concern in his voice.

The queen sighed and finally faced him, returning a tiny fraction of his worry in a smiling visage. Her husband had a good heart, but she had had enough of it.

"You worry too much," she said impatiently.

Over the seven years they'd been married, his worries had grown to be a wall of thorns in front of her, until she respectfully forced kind faces for him, concealing new found distaste and intolerance. He had no idea how much power she had over him, it was ridiculous. Too easy.

The marriage was a simple foolish folly of an impulsive Knight excited about a golden prince charming. She did not expect to grow so bored and irritated by him, she felt the need to escape and go on missions all the time. She wondered if he would ever see through her glamour, as it was perfected over the years. 

What a pathetic ruler he was, adorned by old fashioned flowers and wrinkles that read naivety. She looked away, counting how many lies she had enthralled the king. She was amused at how gullible and easy he was to fool, and sure she'd loved him for that. Though she admit being grateful when he left her alone with her knightly title and battle endeavors. He adored her no matter how bitter she could be, and in his own eyes, he was dealing with a fierce Lady Knight. 

"I have never been so certain," she said firmly, as she braided one side of her short hair. "Need I remind you I've killed goblins before in the turf wars."

They were primitive, boorish, faerie flesh eaters, and the only thing she had no knowledge of them was their war champion. She had not met the Mire King's full elite force, if he even had one. She was expecting larger faerie flesh eaters.

"Katriel, this won't be like the turf wars." Dagda's face fell. His hands were clasped in front of him, as he sat on the edge of the bed flower like a child perched on a comfy couch, belly rounding up his armour pronouncing lazy days.

After polishing her weapon and putting it aside, her lips tightened. She did not want to deal with him anymore with his silly concerns, she had a crucial war to focus on and more importantly -

She found her daughter by her feet. Marianne had wandered over to her side, dressed in pastel carnations, giggling wickedly at a sloppy bouquet she held. She had the same caramel-gold brown eyes, and she'd looked like her mother if not for the luminescent purple wings and paler skin.

"For Faerie Kingdom's champion!" Marianne proclaimed proudly, offering her to the queen.

The Lady Knight's scowl dissolved and thoughts of war and bitterness shattered like glass.

She fell to her knees and hid her face in Marianne's russet brown hair, smelling the flowers she brought only to discover they had stray twigs and mud. She was never revolted by Marianne's adventurous mess, in fact, she loved getting her hands dirty. Hell, she preferred goblin blood on her palms over itchy face powder any day to display a countenance in front of the nobles. Still, she had to wipe the dirt off her face.

"Oh, my little girl," she grinned without hesitation. Marianne was a weakness in her heart. "It's lovely!"

"Can we play swords again when you come back?" Marianne asked beaming.

"As always, my love." She kissed her daughter's forehead, treasuring the scent of fresh chestnuts sprinkled on her hair.

The pixie maidens fluttered over their shoulders, and the queen winked at her daughter mischievously.

"Maybe you can play sword with our lovely pixies while I'm gone," she hid a devilish smirk from Dagda's colourful little pets. "I'm sure they can take a hit."

"Katriel!" gasped the king. The pixies didn't seem fazed - they were giggling idiots.

"I jest," the queen shrugged, making the king pout dumbly.

"Next game," she whispered to Marianne, "we practice swordplay with a blindfold! I've tried it before. It's really fun." They tickled each other's noses until they were both chortling.

Suddenly another pair of little hands pulled at the queen's chain-mail and a small face looked up at them. 

"Eww, what is that?" On all fours, her youngest princess Dawn had crawled up to them, curious steel blue eyes staring at the messy flower bouquet. Her sun-coloured wings were still too small to fly with, unlike Marianne who could flutter.

"Don't worry, my dearest Dawn," the queen laughed, "It is my Champion prize!"

In a warming embrace she held the two of them together, stroking their hair and closing her eyes. Her cold palms had been bloodstained by war, and had carried the hilt of many blades, yet she held her two precious daughters with the grace as soft as a feather. They had always hugged like this before she left for missions and they understood her job made her leave from time to time.

"My darlings..." The queen never lied to her daughters, but she did leave out the gory parts in their adventurous bedtime stories, and her conflicted feelings towards their father. 

Oh god.

She glanced up at her only regret. Dagda was looking down at them with his usual smile. It was a wholehearted smile that showed a genuine love for her, but what could mean so much to any other girl, no longer meant anything to the fair queen.

She wondered if he'd raise their daughters well, if she'd ever fall in battle. She feared to think they'd grow up weak and unable to change things for the better.

As much as it pained her to leave her daughters for war, she wasn't about to switch positions with the king. Never. No matter how much he tried to persuade her to leave the army's command to General Greensin, she insisted on leading her troop. She insisted on being the fair folk's champion.  It was a deceitful last minute change she had discussed with her brigadier general.

"Katriel..." her husband said warily, watching her nuzzle her daughters one more time before pulling away. "I do not want to force you to change your mind."

"Then _don't_ ," she said, returning Dawn in her flower crib for a nap. Marianne scuttled to her side and they tucked their youngest faerie in a cover of soft petals. She felt Marianne's fingers linger in her palm, and it cut her deeply when she let go.

"I can tuck myself in!" giggled the purple-winged fae, scurrying to her own bed flower. The queen watched as Marianne fixed herself snugly in her petals, and after a wave goodbye to her, she yawned and napped.

The queen always felt a stab in her chest when she drew apart from her daughters, and this gnawed at her composure before every mission. When she walked towards the door, her eyes would be burning to spill a cascade of tears, and her throat would yearn to swallow, but she had always, always resisted the turmoil to show. Thoughts of a hearty challenge and the rush of a fight made her legs move forward.

"Keep them safe," she croaked, feeling stiff, picking up her polearm and brushing past the king who had reluctantly opened the door for her. "And promise me to give them love."

 _Give them the love I never truly had with you_ , she said to herself. Pity he'd never know that.  
She did not wait for his reply nor a flash of another one of his boring smiles, and that was enough for her. 

With a heavy heart she finally liberated herself from the room, knowing that those may be the last words she had said to her family.

Was it evil of her to give no goodbye to her husband? 

Was it evil of her to choose war over her daughters?

Perhaps.

Perhaps she was a little evil.


	2. Bleeding Heart

Serrated teeth lined their wide maws, scales soft and green concealed their thick armour and heavy muscles. The beasts crouched hungry for the call of the Mire King.

"Where is he?" hissed one of the goblins.

"Why is he taking so long?" gurgled another.

Apprehension clutched gulping throats and blood heated nervous veins. The start of a historical war engulfed the air of the borderlands until every inch was quaking.

Fair folk steadied their ground, tightening their grips around blades and shields as they await anxiously for their Lady Knight's word.

Goblins.

Faeries.

Two opposing sides with the history of hate and fear of the other.

In the past, discrimination and territorial claims were the disputes, and today it was no different - only this time, the war was about the stone walls.

The Border. A wall of rock towering past the tallest goblin height, rooted to divide marsh from meadow. It was as old as the first founders of fae, and there was only one gate - a broken archway built with branch and boulder.

Two armies had agreed to meet in the eve of the night before the gate. The goblins were in the fae side of the wall, taking advantage of the wall's stony perches and height. The faeries had wings, and to their advantage their enemy was on their side to corner against the wall. Nevertheless they were up against thicker hide over metal shields.

The Lady Knight of the fair, rode on a serpent decorated with red and gold plates. She was perched on her saddle with the blade of her bardiche leveled to her face. Gazing at her reflection, she fixed a stray lock of hair.

"The Mire King is late," she sighed. A blonde knight standing beside her wore similar red and gold colours of autumn. He had a strikingly handsome face that could melt the fairest heart, but deceive an enemy to death.

"My queen," he acknowledged, oblivious to the charming accent in his words. "Perhaps the Mire King is delayed with valid reason. He may be fetchin' his champion. I hear their champion's rather...brutish." He looked up at her with crystal green eyes she could stare at all day.

"I can take care of myself," she pouted.

"I've never doubted you," he chuckled. "Wouldn't be surprised if you go easy on 'im."

The queen laughed, swinging her blade around like a surrendering flag. "Oh _that_ is the fun part! I will try so hard to go easy on him."

"Harsh." He grinned.

"Well, he was rarely in the turf wars and goblin fights," she claimed, "Maybe he's just ashamed how terrible he is in a fight..."

"He might surprise yah."

The queen glanced at her brigadier general. General Rolfe Greensin, a man of honour she trusted and a hero who fought wars beside her since knighthood. He was a valuable comrade, born and raised in the western part of the Kingdom. She was shocked when he got married and had a son. Partly because of jealously, and partly because a wife could mean unfaithfulness, and a son could mean a weakness. Then again, perhaps that was just...her.

"My queen!" Rolfe suddenly pointed at the gate crawling with a new handful of marsh kind. Four more large goblins emerged with bone maces, alongside six smaller ones armed with spiked amber axes.

The Mire King's elite cohort, she supposed. Fashionably late.

The fae soldiers shifted uneasily as the goblins joined their camaraderie followed by the sound of wings and heavy footsteps. Three more bodies went through the gate, a familiar faerie, a glass-winged Mire King, and a goblin creature so large the queen's mouth twitched to restrain a jaw drop.

That may be the goblins' champion, she observed. He was the very being of brute muscle and sinew put together with the fins of a lionfish and jaws of a shark. It hobbled to the very center of the goblins' front-line, and the queen calculated its movements, wondering where in its thick hide she could penetrate - she had never seen him before.

 _"Let me tell you a tale of tomorrow,_  
_Faerie queen left her children in sorrow_  
_No remorse she flew and abandon her king!_  
_This war - to her - was the most important thing..."_

The fine singing voice emanated from the infamous Bard of the fair folk, arriving with the Mire King. The Bard was an eccentric fellow who made a life out of entertaining both Kingdom and Forest nobles. The queen knew him as Fillip the Bard, the fae who carried the music.

"I bring two kinds of monsters tonight!" sang the minstrel, fluttering around in carefree mien with a stringy guitar. "Faeries with Lady Knight, and the Mire King with goblins to fright!"

"Must you?" groaned the king of the mire.

The queen did not mind the minstrel's musings. She caught a glimpse of a dagger around his belt, and it made her wonder if he'd even use that knife over a stick guitar in the battle. He was an amusing fae.

"What's a revolution without its fool? Music is key, entertainment's a tool!" the minstrel chimed, fluttering away from the Mire King's swing of his sword.

The Lady Knight cleared her throat from her perch. "Your goblin highness of the Dark Forest," she addressed with a mocking lilt. "If it is alright with you, I'd like to start a war."

The Mire King wouldn't even look up at her. He was grumbling to himself, most likely about the first two fringes of the battle. The Bard was soaring overhead strumming his guitar as if it would help the King with his thoughts.

 _"It is time to begin the speeches,_  
_But lo and behold the screeches,_  
_They aren't of fright_  
_They aren't of sight_  
_They are of time wasted for teachers!"_

"Thah doesn't make any sense!" The Mire King snapped at the Bard. 

"It does," mumbled the Bard, his fingers stuck in a note. "We are screaming for the Knight and the King, our teach - "

"King Mire!" The Lady Knight pressed, careless of formality at this point. A smug grin plastered across her face when the goblin royal shot her a look of disdain.

"I am amused by the Bard's tomfoolery," she sighed nonchalantly, "but I am beginning to wonder if your goblins are planning to dance instead of fight."

The goblin royal let out an exasperated noise. "Oh, don't humor yourself, Lady Knight," he gritted his teeth, every word dripping with sarcasm. "Truly tha' would be a brilliant idea, however I am afraid my goblins will crush your bones and derail your daisy tinmen with our dance routine before our swords could even meet."

His scowl turned to a wide grin when she let a frown slip from her lips. Flying to the front of his army, an ebony sword in hand, his voice boomed over the marsh kind making them puff up their chests.

"My warriors!" He bellowed, even the Bard fell silent. "Your patience is much appreciated! I have arrived with our champion!" The goblin roars fueled his words and stance. His black blade sharply pointed at the queen. "Now, my brothers, standin' before you are the fair folk. The little creatures who wish to break our walls and our peace!" He snarled, his blade reared to the night sky. "They wish to change our lives, but they'll only trample us with their scrutiny, mistreat us for their sport, and blame us for their wrongs! They speak of change, when _they_ won't listen to us and leave us be!" The goblins howled, spirits raging.

The queen's mouth tightened. It was all true. For many years, there were goblin murders and faerie hunts, and these crime rates spiked during the turf wars.

When she had risen to power, she yearned for a revolution. As much as the queen loved the fantastic fae life of luxuries, she had wanted more. She believed that a merge of beast and fae was in order to finally rid of the fear in the hearts of both kinds. It was an ideal to turn the world to a new age and a better place, and so Dagda had formed an agreement called the Silent Merge, during the end of the turf wars.

The wall remained standing during that age, and fae and goblin tried to live in each other's villages and towns even though there were protests from the elves and creatures. Dagda believed in a quiet and slow process of assimilation, but it had angered more than it had satisfied.

In the years of tolerance, goblin and fae nobles were disgusted, and conditions turned sour. The marsh kind were treated poorly in the Kingdom, discriminated by the rich, and there were still incoming reports of tortured goblins from marsh hunting. The fair folk suffered no less in the Forest, as they were turned to darkness, and indulged by hungry flesh-eaters. Even with the illegality and prevention of these crimes, very few had prepared for the rate of the murders in the turnout, and very few had actually lived in contentment. 

The Silent Merge was a fearful disaster, and the dream of uniting the fairest and the beast was short lived. They were just too different.

And yet. The Lady Knight still believed in the change, and she still urged to break the bordering stone wall so that both sides could be unified by land at the very least. She hated the grey boulders built around her Kingdom, like palace gates caging her in. There had to be a change. She would force that change to happen again. Not as quiet and meek as the Silent Merge's time with King Dagda, but as loud and strong as wing and blade beating against the wind. She wanted to change the two worlds until fear was eliminated.

Until her daughters no longer felt scared.

Until the marsh kind could be changed.

_Controlled..._

"We fight for our culture to thrive, my warriors," the Mire King went on, turning to his men.

"Harden your brave hearts from the metal that had slaughtered our comrades. Tonight, we fight to live in our - own - PEACE!" The goblins raised their maces and gaped their maws. They drummed the earth with heavy limbs until the sound made faerie knees wobble. Their chants rung in the very ears present. "Leave us be! Leave us be!"

The Mire King's icy blue gaze met the Lady Knight's, and they bore all the loathing.

"Your turn, Tough Girl."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The surname 'Greensin' was an inspiration from a couple of Suzie-Guru's Strange Magic fics. I thought it was a brilliant last name for Roland's ancestry!
> 
> King Mire's name was deeply inspired by swamp synonyms, so to follow how Bog was named. Mire is also short for quagmire. 
> 
> Roland's father: What if he was just a nice guy with history of being a friend in the royal household? This favors the King's early likes on Roland in the movie, but does not explain why Roland grew up to be a spoiled jerk, and that, I hope to explain much later in this story.
> 
> Thank you for the kudos! C:


	3. I Shall Destroy You

Her eyebrows knitted. She raked fingers through her hair looking hardly insulted, before turning to her army with a poise as straight as the edge of a sword. Her serpent hissed and bared its teeth as it snaked through her troop.

"Knights! Raise your swords!" The queen's chilling command made faerie palms hold up their blades. "Need I remind you that closed walls will shed us no knowledge and diversity. This Border will only be the symbol of fear and haunting! Never of freedom and peace! Never of truce!"

The queen dared to look at the Mire King again. 

She had the reputation of a cold-hearted hero, Mire knew that much. Political, deceptive, bitter and stern. Gladly chosen by the fair folk to be married to a pathetic, naive king who had none of her qualities to be a worthy ruler. They had met before in that one summit meeting many months ago, and she brought the annoying Bard with her who started following him around. 

Damn her. 

When he had stopped going to the council meetings to avoid her nuisance, he had sent his son to assess her in his place. Bog thought she was okay. Damn it. She was not okay! She was vile! That cursed witch tried to turn his own son against him! He had grounded Bog for that.

"I ask you now, my knights," she went on, reigning in her emerald serpent. "To tear open this closed heart and finally change things for the generations to come. If they wish to barricade us from moving forward, let us break them like the wall we are here to destroy!"

Cold and unwavering, she had really thought through her share of words. Mire frowned. She knew she had won this round. Her lips curved to a wicked smile and for a moment, blades and shields clattered in a melodic beat, as her fair folk saluted in glorious synchronicity.

The goblins flinched, but when the Mire King raised his sword they immediately hushed and straightened themselves.

"We shall destroy them," he growled, feeling a bit of embarrassment jab him.

Sure, she had a far better war speech, but he could play better in the next stage. He heard the gruesome intentions behind her bewitching words, and he knew she was not only here to eliminate the fear she proclaimed and the dividing stone wall she called a haunting. 

No. 

She was here to forcefully takeover his Forest and strengthen her men with goblin game hunting. It wouldn't be a so-called Silent Merge. It would be a force to control the marsh kind under fair folk rule. She was here to eradicate the lives of the creatures she looked down upon, and the golden eyes and honey-coated words enchanted the fae to move forward.

Mire shook his head, his wings buzzing furiously, and he cut through the faeries' roaring with a snarl. "ALRIGHT! CHAMPIONS AT A READY!" So what if he had lost a silly wordy war. 

The fae queen had mentioned her champion was her second in command, General Rolfe Greensin so he had assumed.

 _This champion challenge is to use a valued warrior, right?_  Mire figured. Brill was their best and largest, lionfish-finned goblin, though he wasn't the brightest. Expendable for a quick warm-up prior combat with a thick hide that could withstand a fae's metal toothpicks.

The Bard flew around to his side, humming, "Mires, about that champion...I might've glossed over some details when I had, um, delivered a message this morning..."

"I don't care if she won the first round!" Mire spat as he petted Brill on the head.  The larger goblin's acknowledgments were unnerving gnarls and deep gurgles.

The Bard fidgeted beside him. "Yes, but I'm pretty sure the fae will, um...win this second round."

"Her pitchfork farmer is no match for Brill."

Mire had seen her general fight in one of the only turf wars he'd been to, and admittedly the fae fought better than his skilled goblins. The Mire King had never seen the queen or her red-winged elites fight, nor had he ever displayed his fighting skills to her. He was too busy controlling flesh-eaters, and taming new recruits, Brill and Brutus, he didn't care whatever war she instigated. He trusted his large goblins enough when she would go looking for trouble. 

"Yes, but what if, say...Brill's not really fighting the one you think he's facing?" The Bard fidgeted.

Mire shot him a severe look. "Your point?"

"The fair folk had made a switch this morning, but I completely forgot to tell you." The Bard's smile shook, wings flapping nervously. "Funny, how I'm bringing it up right now, eh?"

The Mire King followed the minstrel's gaze to the serpent and its royal rider, brandishing her polearm. "What...?"

The minstrel fluttered away from the Mire King. "It's also funny how the fair folk's champion is none other than - "

"HER?!" Mire gaped.

**~*~**

The clang of the staff resounded through the halls, followed by the shrill of wingbeats and drones of two dragonflies. He was able to score a hit at the large insects, but when he did, the agitated dragonflies grew dodgier and faster.

"Argh!" The young prince roared, countering his staff against a dragonfly's wingbeat, only to receive a jab from another behind him. He delivered another swing, another beat against the tail of the dragonfly who had assaulted him, but the insect parried. Amber clashed against ebony column, and he let out a scream of frustration that echoed in the entire palace.

The dragonflies landed beside the prince, frightened of his rage, but cautious of any secondary intentions...

Bog was almost in his teen years, but he was already as skillful with a sword and staff as the young soldiers of the goblin army. Probably even better, if his father could just see that. He would not have been left behind, and he would not have had yelled at him. He had wanted his first war, to be  _this_  war - the war of the century! That would have been so cool!

But his father had left with the Bard already.

His father had left to fight in this war without him...

"Why not?" Bog had yelled at the Mire King. "I had been to th' Kingdom once! You trusted me to talk to them, yeh, but I can fight them too! The faeries are nothing! They look like twigs! Father, I had helped you tame the worst flesh-eaters, and if I'm going to rule this forest one day I should be in this! Mother said I'm as scary as you, maybe even scarier! I can destroy them and - "

"SILENCE!!!" The king's command had hurt his ears, and the next few words sounded grating, like a nail through his chest. "I forbid you to fly past the Border for the sake of this war, Bog. You will be in the way of my sword and a pest in my army."

The sentence had cut so deep Bog had taken a step back, whimpering and staring coldly at the floor.

His mother had been there, standing beside his father."Oh, you and your cheesy goodbyes," she huffed, loosening the tension between them.  

"You have a wonderful way of reading the situation, my dear," groused the Mire King.

Bog kept his gaze at the floor, feeling so pathetic with all the tears in his eyes, he didn't notice a shadow loom over him. Two strong hands suddenly held his lithe frame, making him look up to the king of the mire.

"Bog, listen to me," his father spoke gently, in a tone only used in the rarest occasions. "It is not because I do not believe you can take care of yourself in this war, but...I just don't want you to see what I would do to them...I need to keep you safe."

"But I can destroy them!" Bog said impatiently, wiping his nose.

The king shook his head. "You and I both know, that as much as I hate faeries, I don't want to hurt them without a good reason. We're better goblins than this. I just want us to live in peace and be left alone, but the faeries are just..."

"Pretty and annoying." Bog grunted.

"Pretty annoying," Mire corrected, eyebrows furrowing. "No, actually - just  _annoying -_ not pretty."

Bog sniffed, hiding a smile.

"Except your nana - she was pretty until she got eaten."

The prince laughed. Hands on hips, his little smile turned into a stubborn pout and proclaimed, "Yah, I hate flesh-eaters! I can't believe we still keep them as pets!"

Mire frowned. "They have their uses, but I'm not goin' t' order a killing spree, son. We'll keep reinforcing our rules."

"I know, I know." Bog sighed, and remembered one of his father's teachings. "Just lock 'em up in the dungeon if they don't listen to you," he recited.

There were two kinds of goblins in the Forest, the noble and the primitive. During the turf wars and the Silent Merge, his father had made many prevention plans and issued sanctions to forbid flesh-eating forever. It had angered the conservative type, but in the end, the goblins agreed for a couple of reasons: ongoing terror and royal blood relation.

Goblins could feed on plant, fruit, and creature life, but it was frowned upon to feed on the fae. It was an age old habit that used to be a noble sporting tradition in the past. But during the reign before Mire, fae sporting became primitive and unjust. Nobles had finally realized it was revolting to feed on a neighbouring race, and it injured any peaceful relations with the fae. In Mire's rule, meat substitutes were reinforced and fair flesh was finally banned in every corner of the Forest, although there were still stubborn primitives who had yet to learn why the fair folk were not a product.

Bog was glad his family never had the stomach for faerie flesh in generations, most likely because the first two kings before his father, were born a half blooded fae. Surprising as it was, the marsh kind never cared if their royalty were pure blooded goblins. If a misfit lived in the marsh, they were one of the marsh kind.

Compared to the fair folk, the marsh kind welcomed insect, creature, mushroom, amphibian, reptile and mammal, and even exiled faeries. Bog's grandmother was a fae exiled from the Kingdom for marrying a goblin.

The proud fair folk were quite a severe race back then. If the Silent Merge had disgusted them, changing ways in this war would really rattle their tenacious hypocrites.

Bog wondered why the new faerie queen still urged to rid of the wall, when she knew her people didn't even like how the Merge had turned out.

"Right, Bog," grumbled the king, clapping his shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. "I must go now, I'm already late. Stay here and keep training."

"What? No hug?" His mother approached them with open arms, inviting a dazed Bog for a hug. Mire, taller than the both of them, scowled, but reluctantly knelt in front of them anyway for the awkward embrace.

"The ivory flowers look great on you, my dear," uttered his father, smiling over Griselda. "It's lovely."

When his father replaced grouchiness with compliments towards Griselda, it was a rare thing to witness. With Bog, any comment for him would be disguised in a nod, a grunt, or a complicated sentence.

"I didn't marry you for being a sap, my bad boy," Griselda teased.  She had recently trimmed her horns, and from the ivory, Mire had made a pretty crown for her head of red curls. In Mire's eyes, it made her look beautiful as the blue night flowers of the marsh.

Bog groaned from what he'd consider 'mushy stuff', and then his father let out a light chuckle before drawing away to leave.

Head held high, the Mire King stood tall by the archway, glasswings pulsated ready for take off. He was armoured from head to toe with tibial spines, and a blood red spiky thorax with a matching helm and antenna. His shoulders were left bare for versatility with a blade as black as night, and along his arms were spiked braces. He bristled in the evening air, fur cloaked around his neck like a moth's shoulders over a mantis' body. His mere silhouette was in every way as regal as his grand stature, and it would be an honour to grow up like him. 

The Mire King.

Bog had stood in awe. He had probably imagined it then, but his father's final glance over his shoulder was all wrong. Instead of looking proudly in the moonlight, he looked terribly uncertain. Doubtful of something like he was about to step into a void. Glossy pale blue eyes darted around for a second, before locking themselves to his wife and son.

Bog's father was a man who rarely laughed. The wrinkles on his face were from grimacing over the years, and never once had an apology escaped those lips. Not even for scolding a child. And never once had he looked so unresolved. Never ever.

But on that very night, by the archway, his father dithered and vanished into the dimness bidding no farewell, rather an apology for the first time.

_"Forgive me..."_

Bog's wings shuddered.  He opened his eyes from the recollection, sensing the dragonflies fall for his feint. He turned to them sharply, making them quiver. His staff raised for another blow, but he reigned in his anger and lowered his weapon.

"That's enough," he told them firmly, before his childish tantrum could takeover him. The dragonflies respectfully bowed and left him alone. Loosening the grip on his staff, Bog let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

 _His father will be fine,_ he reassured himself, hitting an oak wood training column. The clamor overpowered battle cries from his ears, and his mind filled with thoughts to stand beside the Mire King.

**~*~**

"I - " The Mire King cut himself off as the royal fae lowered her serpent to level with him.

He could see her clearly now with those piercing hazel eyes painted with  _kermes_ , her lips coloured to match. Mire seethed at those malevolent shades - they were pigments derived from insect blood. 

The leaf-shaped blade of her bardiche reflected the moon, and her autumn coloured armour shone like an eerie sunset. The splotch on her discals were a shade of blood against her white coloured wings, and the black markings around them emphasized it, like smoke ignited by red flames. 

"Surely, you didn't think I would pass a champion fight?" she vexed, buttering her words with poison.

"Is this a test of pride to you?" Mire bared his teeth.

"Pride? Oh no, silly goblin, no," she tilted her head back. "This Champion fight is to engage your best warriors in combat before the real deal. Silly, silly goblin."

Mire clenched his fists. He thought the first two battles of the three stage war agreement, were simply ridiculous faerie games which he prepared for last minute. Hence he was a little tardy and unprepared for the speech and champion challenge. 

The Lady Knight looked up at Brill who was staring into space. "I suppose the Mire King is not the best warrior there is in the Dark Forest," she sneered, chin up and raising her polearm to the creature. "Well, I'll be honoured to fight thee!"

If he sends Brill to fight her, it would be humiliating! That would mean Brill was better than he! Damn it. Damn it, damn it. Damn her. But what was he reluctant about? He would fight her. He could  _damn_  well fight her. No doubt about it.

Her unblinking gaze fell on him, and in her eyes shone victory over the grave of dead goblins. 

The Mire King snapped. "I shall have your head on a stick!!" he thundered, launching himself at her, sword assailing to spite.

Blades met in a flash, ringing its highest note. Both armies went numb as they watched their superiors a hair's breath away from each other, blade on blade for the kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kermes vermilio, a specie of insect near the Mediterranean region, used to make crimson dye. Popular in the medieval times for its rich red colour.


	4. With Blade and Bone

The Lady Knight raised a brow under the shadow of her staff. The Mire King looked uncertain over the grip of his valiant blade. An awkward silence followed and everyone waited with bated breath for their superiors' command.

"Katriel!" Rolfe broke in, his blade unsheathed and ready to fight. "My queen! Did the Mire King break the three stage agreement?"

"No!" barked the Mire King, advancing his sword against the fae's polearm. "No. I didn't."

The queen looked skeptical. "You're not the marsh kind's champion."

"I never told you who our champion was," Mire growled.

Fluttering overhead, the Bard landed near them in view of the royal sword and staff.

"Hmmm," he chimed. "Well according to the three stage war's rules...

"Before the second stage, which is the champion challenge, it is the champions themselves that announces who the champion is." He clapped his hands. "Wait, was that too many _champions_ in one sentence? Anyway, what we all see here, so far..." His fingers traced the end of the bardiche, tensed with anticipation. "Is that _neither_ of you are your army's champion, since _neither_ of you had officially announced yourselves being their - "

" _I_   _AM_ their champion!" The Lady Knight and the Mire King chorused, making their faces burn in aggravation.

The Bard blinked. "Oh..."

The Mire King shot him a glare. "Do you have a problem with that, Bard?" He wasn't going to ask him to fetch Brill.

"Don't question my choice, Fillip," hissed the Lady Knight, and she wasn't going to explain her switch from this morning either.

The Bard strummed his guitar. "Right, right, right!" He quickly flew away proclaiming, "I now pronounce thee Champion and Champion of goblin and fae. Ladies and gentlemen, your husband and wife - _ugh_ \- I mean - Champion and Champ - "

"ENOUGH!" The Lady Knight ordered. Mire's sword stole the opportunity to cut through the air, grazing her staff as she quickly blocked the blow.

"The champion fight has begun, tin queen," Mire said quickly, recoiling for another strike.

"Is that supposed to insult me?" She parried the ebony blade by an inch, the bardiche skimmed his nose.

She had almost forgotten about the serpent she was riding, and in a wingbeat, she was in the air moving and diving. Mire faltered her furious onslaught in time, countering with a jolting collision of their blades.

They barely noticed the two armies roaring in the background, cheering for their superior to win. All the while the Bard flooded the noise with strings of tango over the crowd, and no one noticed a little goblin prince incognito sneaking past the stone Border, and merging into the fray.

**~*~**

Bog knew this was wrong. He knew he was forbidden to stray from the palace. But he couldn't help it. There was too much at stake to be sidelined like his mother.

He had dared to disobey his father's wishes. He had dared to lie under the nose of the law. Well. His father's word was law.

Now there he was, watching the Mire King hover in the air, fighting off the Lady Knight, he'd met before in that one summit. In red and golds, she looked like a candle's flame in the night. Her serpent stood patiently behind her, keeping its green head low.

Bog was perched on one of the boulders, hooded eyes under an oversized helm, beside some insect cohorts that had arrived to fight. They could recognize him with his wings, but they didn't say anything. Spiders, dragonflies and centipedes were quiet comrades except for the buzzing noises.

From his view, he could see the Knight and the King indulged by every unyielding hit of their blades, their collisions sounded like metal smashing stone.

"I'm here to help, father," he murmured, believing his words could reach the king of the mire. "I can destroy them..."

While everyone else was beguiled by the champion fight, he scurried down the stone wall, bone mace in hand. Bringing his amber staff would ruin his disguise, so a mace could was as deceptive as he could get. He had rarely practiced with maces, mostly because they weighed so heavy. The mace he carried was as light as the large swords he'd trained with. He figured if he could swing a sword and staff, he could control any weapon.

Along the way, he stole one of the goblins' cloaks and wrapped it over his shoulders to hide his wings. He would fight flightless, but that wasn't going to stop him.

He slinked his way past the goblins and managed to find the frontline. Up close, the faerie army stood tall and unwavering before him. They looked stiff and fragile even with their metal plates and weaponry. Bog wondered if one of them was tipped over, they would all fall like a line of uneasy rocks. Perhaps the wind could also do some damage and blow them away. He had never fought a fae before.

Among their legs stood the elven kind, armoured with shields and little swords that were probably just knives and daggers. Wouldn't they easily get stepped on? Even the green armoured snake that was curled among them looked small compared to their largest goblin Brill. Then again, Bog didn't want to underestimate the fairest.

He glanced around his father's army. Compared to the scrawny fair folk in steel, the marsh kind stood in various shapes and forms, with no alignment in height, no proper stillness, always moving and shuffling and using an interesting array of weapons, from fists, to bone maces, spears, blades and clunky shields. Bog didn't bring a shield, he was too proud of his dodging skills. In any way, he was ready to fight, even if he was flightless.

Melodic notes emanated from above as the Bard continued to soar over them, playing his guitar. Bog thought of pulling the minstrel to the earth, grounding him, but he suddenly got caught up in his rhymes.

_"Let this be the night of fae and goblin,_   
_Bloodcurdling wails of war, we are destined_   
_For there is no love, and there is no heart_   
_In this war of words and champions to start_   
_'Cause soon you will see_   
_That no one will flee_   
_When they engage with a bloodthirsty heart..."_

Bog raised his head to the royals, watching the King and the Knight duel. His eyes suddenly wide with horror.

A Champion Challenge was to the death. Then a war would begin, with or without an army's royal leader. Why did his father volunteer to be champion? If he would fall, there would be no king left for the Forest, while the fae queen would still have a king for their Kingdom. And Bog. Bog would be crowned for the Forest. Then what?   
No.   
He was _here._  
He was here when he should've stayed at home, in case -  
No. No. No. No. He _wanted_ to help. His father could win this.

A scream erupted from the fighting royals overhead. Bog didn't see who got hurt. They both looked hurt. His father was bleeding, the fae queen was limping, but they were still lunging for each other's throats again and again.

The Bard's words rung in his ears.

_"For the side with their leader left standing,_   
_The war would be won,_   
_While the other alone,_   
_Would bow to the winner commanding..."_

Bog _shouldn't_ be here. This was a mistake. No. He would fight for his father and _with_ his father.

The fair folk started cheering, the marsh kind started howling.

Bog panicked. He turned his heel to dig through the goblins again, and return to the palace walls, run into his mother's arms and feel safe for his father -

But it was too late to leave. He saw his reflection against a dagger's blade held right up to his nose. A familiar fae had landed right in front of him so quietly he didn't notice the flash of black and white admiral wings.

"Oh, do stay for the entertainment, my Prince," said the fae, glinting the polished steel in Bog's face threatening to shred his nose. "You wouldn't want to miss this..."

Bog tightened his lips. "You're right, Bard," he gulped, locking his gaze up at the pale, snowy galaxy in the minstrel's strange eyes.  "It is to _die_ for."

**~*~**

"You fight well, for a goblin," she huffed. A line of red oozed down the side of her face when her polearm cracked a sound against his sword.

Again and again, their wrists twisted aggressively for the taste of the upperhand. When one of them scored a cutting hit, or a bruise, they would exhaust each other with a barrage of blockades, until severing assaults were made again. The cycle of threatening lunges and dives hardened their limbs to no sensation.

"I'd expected more from the fragile's most finest!" The goblin king scoffed, whirling his sword to her right for a hit.

She blocked. "Fragile?!"

"Oh," Mire dodged her lacerating attack. "I'm growin' concern over your delicate, faerie fingers - Argh!"

She managed a small cut through his shoulder. "Hah! Your insults are as soft as your armour - oof!" He knocked the air out of her lungs in a kick to the stomach.

Mire crackled, ebony blade hitting the earth as she rolled aside. She had heard him laugh before, in their first encounter one summit meeting.

"Predictable," he sneered, dodging the spin of her blade to his head.

"Not bad," she snickered.

In another turbulent clash of weapons, a new sense of vigor heated their eyes, narrowing to slits. Their half-hearted smiles curled to scowls. 

"Had enough?" the Mire King riposted, parrying her counter assault.

"I can do this all day!" The Lady Knight delivered a blow his right, but his sword was in the way again, infuriating her. "Ugh! But I'm losing patience, _your noble highness_ ," she mocked.

"Hah, hah! You speak of nobility," the Mire King lifted their blades, pulling her towards him. "When yer kind shed the blood of my people for sport. Where's the fairness in that, Tough Girl?"

The Knight untangled herself in a curling sweep, leaving a slice on his cheek. "Yeah well," she grinned menacingly, blocking a blade to her head, "you speak of fairness when your kind haunt my people with your flesh eating ways!"

"We're no longer - hah!" the Mire King's blade sliced the air, missing her arm but leaving a bloody gash on her side, "- the primitive type."

"Well that's disappointing," she leered, striking his back with the other end of her blade and plunging him to the earth.

"Then here's another disappointment for you," she added, landing on him, stepping on a pair of his wings, her blade aimed to his head. "We've banned that old sport since my reign."

The Mire King spat out blood. Keeping the grip on his sword, he spun, tripping her to her knees. In a flash one of her wings were clipped under his foot, his blade raised to strike, but her polearm lifted to his chest immediately, its blade hovering on his heart. She was ready to cut through his armour in a triumphant jab, and he was ready to slice her throat with one swing.

They hesitated.

The Knight's lips curled, blood slithered down her forehead making her dizzy. The King's cheek was cut, and the hand gripping his sword shook as a gash on his shoulder trailed to his fingers. They panted, and waited for one or the other to strike.

Mire flinched, but the queen did not yield. She was inches to victory with a longer blade, but he could easily behead her the second she moved. He would only be impaled, but she'd be brutally decapitated. Nevertheless, they'd both be a royal corpse in mere seconds.

Their armies went completely still. The Bard's distant hum was a fading tune somewhere.

The world stood paralyzed. One movement could shatter the life of a royal and a whole army.

The Lady Knight swallowed, when the Mire King locked into her smoldering gaze. _Your move_ , his pale blue eyes were telling her. She tensed, darting her eyes on his and at the bleeding hand that held the ebony sword.

All of a sudden, he chuckled. She flinched. Their blades never wavered.

"Well, here's another disappointment for you," he said, calmly clearing his throat. "We've banned fair flesh _years_ before my reign. Aside from the stubborn ones, generations o' goblins turned respectful enough to revolt against fair cakes. "

The Knight frowned. What was he talking about? Fair cakes were the best fruit pastries.

"You don't even know what fair ca - oh," she stopped herself, suddenly flushed by her mistake.

He was looking at her with those striking blue eyes again. They were a mystery to her.

For a moment their weapons lingered in the air, frozen in time for them to notice each other's scars and bleeding wounds. Their breathing conquered the silence.

"... _well?_ " The Lady Knight raised her bardiche ever so slightly, awaiting for the Mire King to vanquish her head.

"Go ahead! _Kill_ _me!_ " She swore she could hear her faeries gasp.

"But..." she croaked, barely able to speak as images of Marianne and Dawn engraved in her heart. "I will still have my king...and my army to destroy the Border, no matter what! A historical change _will_ prevail. These stone walls will be torn down. You'll see."

Mire didn't move. She wondered if he could see her eyes glaze. Her daughters flooded her mind again, but she quickly pushed them away. She could sense General Rolfe approach them in caution.

She let out a huff of irritation and loosened her grip on her polearm. Both armies were as still as statues, arrested in place, too winded to stop her from gently lowering her weapon, and getting up on her feet in outright surrender. It surprised her that the Mire King didn't chop off her head yet.

She bit her lip, not wanting to look at him. What was he waiting for? Was his swinging arm numb? At least she still had fleeting moments to remember her daughters' smiles.

She had submitted her life for the war, and she was prepared to die in it. The champion challenge must finally come to an end, and a war _had_ to happen - a change had to happen. The Border had to fall, even if it meant she would never see her daughters again.

"...I admit I enjoyed our fight," the Mire King finally spoke, ripping through her blur of thoughts. 

She blinked up at him slowly. "Yeah?" she said with a faint smile. _He_ was pretty impressive _,_ she thought, but she couldn't bring herself to say it out loud for some reason. Mire had never held back, nor had he hesitated to strike. Training grounds and turf wars were easy and effortless, but the Mire King was...different. Strangely enough, she had a good time after all. He was a new challenging opponent, and she wondered if she had let him live because she didn't want to lose a sparring partner like him.

Ignoring the blood dripping down her cheek, she was unable to pull her wing off from under his foot. It felt numb and she supposed he tore a nerve. He still had his arm raised for a blow, but what the hell was he waiting for?

She winced as she fingered the gash on her side bleeding through her armour. They were both losing blood, but neither of them complained. The moment she tore her gaze away from him, she heard him snarl.

Sword raised for a mutilation.

She closed her eyes and kept her blade to the earth, surrendering to a death she did not want to see. She even heard Rolfe yell her name through the sound of a rushing steel.

A gasp.

A sound metal brushed past her ear.

Then silence once more.

She opened her eyes and breathed - her heart felt alive, her lungs inhaled. She dared to look up and meet the eyes of the Mire King, but his back was turned to her, arched with exhaustion.

"I - I don't," the queen stammered, feeling woozy. "I don't understand - I -"

"I'll take it from here." He deadpanned. He was no longer stepping on her wing.

 _"No!"_ She had dreaded a truce or a stupid ceasefire - this would have all been in vain! It would be humiliating for her.

"We shall still have our war!" she said stubbornly.

"I _know_ ," his voice was so low, he had only wanted her to hear it. "I didn't say we won't, Tough girl."

What did he mean by that? She swallowed hard, wings aching, suddenly conscious of all eyes watching their every move.

"A war will _still_ happen even if I did raise a truce," he spoke softly, reading her expression. "We can't avoid this."

She glowered.

"Then why didn't you kill me?" she asked. Her question synced in with the Mire King asking the same thing.

They looked away from each other, contemplating on a kill they never did. Why didn't she simply sink her blade into the heart of her enemy? The queen bit her lip from the thought. She queen wasn't weak. She had a strong army behind her if she'd ever sacrifice her life. She had given the Mire King a chance to win the champion challenge but he did not take the prize. He did nothing! Why didn't he?

And why didn't _she_ do the same thing?

Were they trying to be _that_ noble? Had he spared her life because he wanted her alive for imprisonment? Shame? A cascade of questions brimmed her lips, but no word was exchanged between them and in an instance, the silence was shattered.

A child screamed. Heads turned to a small goblin flying straight for her.

"I shall destroy you!" cried the goblin, raising a mace to her head. The queen's jaw dropped at a pair of familiar blue eyes through the shadow of the helm. She tried to block the incoming bone weapon, but her limbs felt heavy. He pinned her bardiche to the ground, and her arm received a bruising blow that made her yelp.

Then the impulsive goblin was upon her. His speedy bone mace nearly raked the side of her skull if it hadn't been restrained in a split second. The Mire King was looming over them, holding back the boy's wrist.

Heart racing, the queen caught a glimpse of her loyal general through the web of goblin limbs and weapons, driving through her army. Rolfe yelled an order.

And the queen's protest was drowned in a goblin's guttural war cry, amidst the overwhelming barrage of voracious blades and thrashing steel. The fairest and the beasts plowed through each other's lines for the kill, and the fate of a Border...


	5. And a Story in a Song

**_Three long months before the war..._ **

Fillip the Bard was never in tune during summit meetings.

They were so-called truce conferences, strictly a noble fae's way of passing the time to point their noses in the air, and mingle with the winged high class from far off places. Aside from the social networking, they would sit down, bicker about territorial claims, and suggest peace treaties with the marsh kind who weren't always present due to some racial degradation, Fillip noted.

Before the Mire King and the new faerie royals of the Kingdom, the Bard had observed several of these meetings, and it had all started in the early years during the turf wars, before the Silent Merge happened. Fair folk dominated the table every season, and the beastly diplomats were too proud and reserve, they rarely did anything about it.

From the many meetings he'd been to, Fillip had only seen a handful of marsh kind representatives. Their numbers fluctuated depending on the sovereignty's interest in speaking terms with the fair folk.

Faes weren't their favourite neighbours, but they tolerated them for the longest time until the goblin hunts which led to the turf wars. When the wars began the fae established seasonal summits held in the Faerie Kingdom twice a year, which eventually turned to some sort of a social thing, though it was still organized as a formal meeting with creative discussions on issues.

He had always been invited to these summits mainly for the fairest's entertainment after all, he was their magical-eyed jester.

Aside from his musical numbers, he became engrossed with the talk between stubborn nobles and royals.

He would twiddle his thumbs at the political jargon when court is in session, but he would be deeply enticed by the political banter from the mouths of these chin-raising council members.

He had once hoped a brawl would actually take place in the midst of the room after a heated talk of land expansion - like that one arm wrestling match a fellow fae and goblin had once, only perhaps it could've been rougher. Weird as it sounds, the Bard was obsessed with the little wars, especially between races. In every conflict, he believed there was a story and a song, but the summits never fully quenched his thirst for a story.

Outside court, fae and goblin disputes were a bit more extreme -  weapons included - and the Bard would always try to be there to find the right characters for a legendary song to sing about. Ever since he became the Bard, outcast by the fairest for obnoxious reasons, he had always, always looked for a story - and not just _a_ story.

 _The_ story.

The story to write in a song that would resound in the mouths of future generations. He had looked for it within court, in drunken taverns, faerie cities, elven towns, goblin marshes, mushroom houses - anywhere!

The summit meetings were one of many little amusements for him, but ever since King Dagda rose to power, eliminating the burly lot of political bastards, the meetings grew less and less interesting.

Total boredom would half shut his eyes from the all of the _gobbledygook_ the gullible king would proclaim. Everything became mannerly, soft and...quaint. Not one member wanted to speak out of line, the Bard started hitting his head on the table once to cause a disturbance - sadly even _that_ was ignored.

King Dagda, a kindhearted, green-eyed, naive royal of the Faerie Kingdom, pampered and raised by prideful conservatives, had quieted the summits' chaos to a lovely order, until goblin representatives stopped showing up. The Bard wanted to go insane as almost two seasons passed without a goblin member in the high court. It was either because of the turf wars, the goblin hunts, or King Dagda's jolly ol' St Nicholas attitude in the court - which repulsed the tough loveless types, the Bard supposed.

He had almost lost interest in the summits when finally, a new goblin royal attended. King Mire had became the first and only goblin representative without an escort to come to the summit after two years with no marsh kind. Reluctantly welcomed, every fae in the room was completely intimidated by him.

Height, mantis build, cicada-winged with the fur cloak over his shoulders, the king of the mire had a dominating presence in contrast to the fairest, and yet the Bard observed, the Mire King never seemed...threatening.

The goblin royal may look horrendous, but he had carried himself like a true king, courteous, poised, and practically better than the boisterous nobles - maybe because he had a fair bloodline. So with another gentle royal, came another year of quaint summits and another long mission of story searching. The Bard grew agitated.

Goblins were supposed to be a grouchy lot, Fillip thought, as he flew through the grand hall and made his way to the council's round mahogany table for his usual seat. It was a neutral spot where the council members had always overlooked.

Fillip liked being neutral. Never choosing a side between fea or goblin was something magical types tend to do. Take his young friend Sugar Plum, for example. She was a being of pale dazzling magic, coloured in blues, golds and purples, dusted with white twinkling stars.  She told him, that if he were ever bored with the summits, she would take his place.

She was a true magical creature with shapeshifting and alchemical capabilities, and she'd occasionally lean towards a fae's opinion.

Fillip on the other hand, was not coated with a sparkling glow of snowy stars, but was just another fae with obsidian wings lined with an admiral's ivory streak. His tunic was black and white to match his wings, his hair a dark mazarine, and his pale face looked normal. Except for the eyes.

From afar people would think he was blind, but up close, the seeing orbs were a milky space of the palest pastels, like the magic of the Plum faerie on her skin. No one, not even his friends - or any of those he'd talked to at least - dared to keep their eyes staring in his for fear of the unknown magic in them. Funny. The closest magic he had ever performed was only harmless poetry, dance and music. He had always thought of himself as a misfit, a runt of the litter, unable to do things like Sugar Plum. If he did have a tiny bit of magic, he would dust someone to like his songs.

He found the Mire King brooding beside his seat, engrossed in an illuminated faerie scroll. He was early with a frown as always, and no guards looming behind him. The other royals and their escorts were also present, except for King Dagda who liked being fashionably late for some pompous reason. Then again Fillip remembered the rumours going around about a new queen arriving with him. The Bard had never met King Dagda's wife, nor had he really cared about Dagda's jolly good life - what a _chaos ruiner,_  Fillip called him once.

"Morning, Mires!" The Bard greeted, propping his feet on his chair and strumming his lute. Today it was a lute, tomorrow a guitar, next day a sitar if he could make one. 

"Mornin'," grumbled King Mire. As much as he was a  grumpy scowling goblin, he would always respond with a grunt and a nod.

Fillip leaned to his side to examine the open scroll Mire was reading. He wasn't even trying to be discreet about his nosy prying in the royal's personal space.

"I heard we'll be having a new member!" Fillip explained giddily.

"Mhmm," Mire scowled over the Bard's blue hair. "Bard, d' you mind?" He raised a hand to move him, but Fillip snatched the scroll to read it.

"Oh! I see faeries want more land!" The Bard caught a glimpse of red circles on its illustrated map, before Mire swiped his parchment back. Instead of fuming at the minstrel, Mire carefully folded the scroll in a neat straight-edged square and placed it under lace fingers. Fillip was so intrigued by the elegance of those claws and spined arms.

Mire was a more fascinating subject to him than the rest of the council members. One time Fillip had followed him up to the Forest gates, blithering on about a musical number on troubled and mistreated goblins. Mire did not mind him, and he'd actually gave him suggestions, and a subtle compliment. Fillip would sometimes catch sarcasm in the royal's words, but Mire was completely friendly about it. For a long time now, the Bard honestly preferred goblins like Mire who could fold paper into neat squares.

 _"Do you believe,_  
_Today is another day,_  
_To sit and breathe,_  
_With boredom, I say?"_

The Bard grinned. Mire raised an eyebrow at him. The goblin royal was one of the rare folk he encountered that could tolerate his unusual eyes and burst of rhymes. They both share the same thoughts on the summits.

The corner of Mire King's lip twitched, suggesting his own share of rhymes in a grumble, "I know it, you know, these meetings are dull, conversations to lull, until a wondrous person do show..." His tone was flat and awkward, but the Bard really appreciated it with a smile from ear to ear.

"Add that to yer poetry," Mire nodded, rubbing his temples as the Bard strummed his lute.

"I love it when you do that!" beamed the minstrel.

"That was just one time," said the royal.

Fillip was about to further his praise when the Kingdom's elite cohort burst through the double doors.

A line of red and black winged knights arranged themselves in a thorough display of gusto, under shadowed, shining helmets. The formation was outstanding as they raised a polearm in the air to welcome a blonde knight in red and gold. Like the new camaraderie the Bard had not seen before, the blonde's ruby armour was embellished in gold, decorated with suns and red oak leaves. He wore no helm, unlike the ones lined-up masked in a black scarf. Fillip guessed the blondie held a leading title.

"Gentlemen!" the knight announced. Every council member but Fillip, stood with respect. "Your majesty, King Dagda!"

The blonde stepped aside revealing King Dagda's familiar plump figure, dressed in green and yellow plating of a saint. Fillip, mildly intrigued and too lazy to stand, recalled King Dagda's escort armoured green and silver, and with their absence this new league of red must be -

"And his Queen, Lady Katriel of the Faerie Kingdom!" The knight posed in a stance of proclamation that rippled along the red soldiers, and together they synchronized a stunning salute.

Fillip had to roll his eyes away from the over dramatic performance. In all honestly, he cared very little about Dagda's festive displays.   
Curious of the others, Fillip noticed the council members' jaws dropped. Except for one. King Mire looked indifferent, mildly irritated even, as if the air of the room had not really changed and the new arrivals were simply late nuisances causing a ruckus.

Then a rhythym of heels against polished stone made Fillip turn his gaze to where everyone's eyes were trained, and the moment he did, he wished he had never looked away before. Fumbling with his lute and nervous wings, he quickly stood up. He had never actually seen the new queen until now...

Eyes brushed up the warrior regina, dressed in ardent purples and carmine, garnished with golden lines. She was the Faerie Kingdom's queen, garbed in the sunset colours of autumn, adorned with crimson oak leaves on her chevron breast plate. One side of her short rufescent bay hair was braided, and with it, a small scarlet crown bejeweled in gold, its size and shape purposely less dominating than the rest of her face and body. Her caramel eyes looked golden against vermillion shadows modestly painted over them, matching the ruby lips on her sunkissed face. Her skin was tanner than the pale Kingdom faeries, and from the rebellious ear piercings on her earlobes, it was already obvious she was from a farther region. The ivory white of her wings were tainted in blood exploding from the discals, accented by the black markings smoldering her forewing tips.

No sound came from the open-mouthed council members as she took her reserved seat by her husband, and her escort dissipated, leaving the blonde knight standing guard behind her chair. The Bard wondered why she looked tensed, as if something in the room made her wary.

Mire was the only one relaxed enough to speak. No one even sat down yet, except for the queen and her plump consort.

"Welcome," Mire politely acknowledge her. Odd she was surveying everyone else, but him. Mire cleared his throat. It was his turn to greet the new member, as he was the one before her.

"Today is our twenty third summit, and I would like to address Queen Katri - "

"Oh please," she cut him off with a raise of a palm. She gestured for everyone to sit down, and they all complied like a pet, even Fillip sat down eagerly. Everyone...except the Mire King. He looked annoyed by the interruption.

The queen locked eyes on him immediately, and when she spoke there was a firm severity in her words.

"I am a Lady Knight of the Kingdom," she smiled at him. "I've been well-treated and complimented enough as it is. I do not deserve any more honour."

Mire furrowed his brows. "Oh...kay."

"She's so modest!" piped Dagda, placing a hand to his chest as if admiration winded him.

Through a half-lidded stare with his chin propped on his hands, Fillip tuned out the rest of the party with a sigh, and the meeting finally began after Mire sat down on his own accord.

"Let us proceed then."

"Please do," the Queen muttered, lacing her fingers on the table.

Something occurred in that summit that had the Bard completely mesmerized, he had hardly touched a string of the lute on his lap. As the meeting progressed he noticed a pattern.

When a subject about the fair folk was launched, King Mire argued more than he usually did, and when a topic of the marsh kind was brought up, Queen Katriel kept raising issues about them.

Mire acted professionally and kept his replies short, but the Bard could tell his calm composure was wearing off with every second. The Queen on the other hand, held a proud air she didn't care to conceal. She made it so obvious that she liked being the devil's advocate in the group discussions, and somehow the faes supported her, validating her points as true. Mire on the other hand, was never swayed by her words.

"No one else will be benefittin' from that appraisal!" Mire exclaimed during a trade dispute.

"Your claim was not going to profit the right businesses," she retorted.

"Yer going to undermine our kind's trading system to raise your folk's wealth?!"

And the heated banter went on like this for hours.

Queen Katriel and King Mire overpowered the discussion with an armada of verbal hostility interwoven in their political talk, the rest of the council members were either engrossed in their own little mutterings with nobles beside them, or too frightened of a remark if they were to interject in the salty conversation. King Dagda had tried intercepting with some of his own opinions on the matters, but his queen and the only goblin royal of the room, would fire more statements and sideline the faerie king's - and he would simply back out which was no surprise. 

Then came a moment when Mire had asked for the other nobles' participation, and the queen reigned in her aggressive rationales. They had most likely needed a moment with the others after overwhelming themselves in a circling contradiction about creature rights. The queen turned a cheek, not wanting to continue the topic.

Fillip watched her eyes skim them, sweeping past her own husband, and then -

Oh my Plum.

She caught sight of him. The Bard. She was looking right at him. Regarding him with unblinking eyes. Queen Katriel noticed him and was looking at him and his...unusual eyes. Was she fascinated? She appeared so.

Fillip wanted to suddenly break into a song - a jiggy - anything to fly away from her austerity that made him feel so naked! He almost flew back his chair if he weren't so hypnotized by dazzling ambers, boring into his magical eyeballs, and for a long while he had lost the power to breathe and swallow. His wings were frantically trying to keep still. He wondered if he was even blinking!

His fingers almost turned blue by a held note in his guitar, and a snap of one of the strings whipped him back to consciousness. A half smile appeared on the queen's lips, and the Bard's heart twitterpated to oblivion.

All of a sudden, her eyes narrowed to - to seething blades. It confused him.

Scanning past everyone's bumbling comments about treaties and pacts and whatever, the Bard noticed, the gaze of Queen Katriel fell on the Mire King's figure. He was focused on one of the faerie kings talking about the dark times, unaware or probably ignoring the attention of the queen. Fillip wished he could be in Mire's place for a second, when all of a sudden, the queen crinkled her nose in revulsion at the goblin royal, and turned away.

That was when Fillip knew...

He knew his childish love-struck heart leapt to nothingness when the queen's gaze rested on Mire. He knew he had attended summits for story reasons. And he damn well knew he was staring at the most obvious one he could truly orchestrate.

There.

That tension.

_That fervent war._

Fillip the Bard would definitely write a song about them.

_A song about the king of the mire and the new queen of the fae..._

 

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( **[x](http://saviourless.tumblr.com/post/125940141305/in-addition-to-the-legends-and-lore-theme-from)** )

 


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